


Dinner and Devotion

by Suzelle



Category: Anastasia (1997)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 18:47:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzelle/pseuds/Suzelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anya drags Dimitri to a dinner party of her grandmother's, and he is none too happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner and Devotion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlossomsintheMist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/gifts).



            With a theatrical sigh, Dimitri sprawled upon the bed, assuming his best nonchalant pose in attempt to hide the sense of impending dread he felt as his thoughts turned to where he would be an hour from now. Waist-down he was dressed for the finest of parties, complete with shining shoes. Yet from head to belt one would have thought he’d just woken up from a recent nap—hair tousled, face unshaven, undershirt bunched up in odd places. He propped his arm up on the bed and turned towards the vanity table at the far side of the bedroom, taking in the true beauty of the household. Dressed in a sleek forest-green gown that would make her shiver later on in the night, Anya stood before the mirror, eyeing her gaze critically.

            “For the last time, you look _fine,”_ Dimitri admonished her, “You don’t need to add anything else, you look beautiful as it is.”

            “I don’t know…” Anya fingered her bare collarbone, “It needs…something. You don’t think it looks too plain?”

            Dimitri shook his head and flopped back down onto the bed, wondering in exasperation._ To think when I met this girl the only jewelry she’d ever known or cared about was that was that old music-box key…you’d never know it now…_

“I still don’t understand why we have to make an appearance at this…noses-rubbing whatsit.”

            “It’s a _state dinner,” _Anya laughed, throwing a powder puff in his direction playfully, “and it’s important. It’s all about diplomacy and keeping up relations and…well, smiling and nodding a lot.”

            “I get that it’s important, I just don’t get why _we_ have to be there,” Dimitri replied, “You’re not some state official and neither am I. And just because you’re royalty doesn’t mean your husband has to accompany you wherever you go…”

            “I’m going because Grandmama wants me to,” said Anya firmly, “and because _I_ want to. And you’re going because I want you to be there with me. Just like I wanted you there with me at those other parties.”

            Dimitri groaned. His experiences there were ones he would prefer not to think about.

            “Oh, come on,” Anya said, “Didn’t you have the least bit of fun? If the food and dancing wasn’t enough at least we could laugh at the ridiculous old men who pretend that they’re so important…”

            “That’s the thing, Anya, they _are_ so important,” Dimitri said, trying to make her understand, “It’s easy enough for you. But I’m forced to make conversation with these old men who want to know how much money I make or who my father was, and…it just gets difficult, pretending to be something I’m not.”

            “Oh?” Anya raised one eyebrow, turning to face Dimitri, “Did I hear that right? Did I just hear Dimitri, the most infamous--” she advanced slowly toward the bed, her eyes glinting mischievously,

“devious—“ she had reached the bed now, barely able to contain a grin,

“and utterly convincing con man of St. Petersburg say impersonating someone was _difficult_?” she accentuated her last word with a punch to Dimitri’s shoulder, which led him to cry out indignantly and pull her onto the bed, both of them laughing. They struggled valiantly before Anya pinned his arms down to the bed, grinning in triumph. Dimitri grimaced in reply, freeing one arm to brush away a stray lock of hair that had fallen out of her elaborate coif.

“…Remind me again why I married you?”

“Oh, come on,” Anya said, the impish glint back in her eyes, “You know you love me…”

Laughing again, the pair barely noticed when churchbells began to chime somewhere in the distance—barely. Anya sighed as she remembered the lateness of the hour, and climbed off the bed with considerable reluctance.

 “Come on, maestro,” she said, reaching down to pull Dimitri up along with her, “We’re going to be late if you don’t get a move on.”

“All right…all right,” Dimitri lingered on the bed for a moment longer before he started to drag himself towards the bathroom. He stopped near the vanity table, where Anya had taken up a thin silver necklace and was struggling with the clasp. He came up behind her and gently took the necklace from her hands, fastening the clasp and letting it fall into place.

“I hope you know that the _only _reason I’m doing this,” he said as he kissed the base of her neck, “is because I do love you--_very_, very much.”

Anya smiled, reaching up to pull him closer to her. “I know,” she said, “I also know that you’re going to be holding this over my head for a very, _very_ long time, aren’t you?”

“You got it, your Highness.”

**************************************

Anya fiddled with the chain of her necklace absent-mindedly, an old habit she thought she had rid herself of. The evening had been spent observing the usual pleasantries—a welcome reunion with her grandmother, Sophie, and Vladimir; followed by formal introductions to the host and hostess of this particular party, then a string of important officials whose names she had already forgotten. One of these days she would need to teach herself to remember these sorts of things. She and Dimitri had been engaged in lively conversation with some of Vladimir’s old friends, before Dimitri had been whisked off by one of them who desired to know more about his life before Paris.

Now she stood off in a corner of the grand parlor—alone, for a change—watching Dimitri at the center of a group of men, talking about who only knew what. There was no trace of the reluctance or insecurity he had shown her in the privacy of their bedroom—on the contrary, one would have thought he was having the time of his life. She smiled ruefully. _You never would have guessed I’d had to literally pull him out of there…_

“So,” Anya jumped slightly as the Dowager Empress came up from behind her, “Who is he this time?”

Anya chuckled, shaking her head as she gazed at Dimitri. “The son of some duke, I think,” she replied, “Apparently, one whom Father had exiled to Siberia, which explains why none of them would ever have heard of him before.”

Her grandmother smiled. “He really does love you, doesn’t he?”

“Apparently so,” Anya said “I’m not sure I know of any other husbands who go around impersonating ex-nobility just to please their wives…”

“Now all we have to do is hope that the real Duke of Siberia doesn’t come descending on Paris anytime soon. Then he can keep this one up for a long time, can he not?”

Anya laughed. At least _someone_ found all of this to be amusing…

***********************************

“There now,” Anya said later that night, as both of them settled into bed for the evening, “That evening wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Dimitri moaned and clutched at his heart, miming the most grotesque death he could think of.

“Four hours of dull talk, bland dinner, drunk Vlad and more dull talk? And you call that _enjoyable?_”

Anya laughed and flopped her head onto the pillow.

“All right, all right, I get it!” she said. “Touchè…” She rolled over and laid her arm gently over his chest. “Thank you,” she said, “You know how much I love that you do this.”

“Would I do it otherwise?”

Anya sighed. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” she said. She paused, staring up into the dark before turning back to him. “You know,” she said, “You don’t have to go to the next one if you don’t want to. If they really make you that miserable.”

Dimitri looked over at her. “You mean it? Really?” She nodded.

“Well,” Dimitri leaned back, a small smirk on his face, “I only hope you realize that this does not absolve you in the least from Pooka-duty from now until…_ow!”_

“Just kiss me and go to bed, maestro,” Anya said, grinning, “We’ll negotiate in the morning.”

 


End file.
